


Lady Mal's Drabbles

by ladymal



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 18,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymal/pseuds/ladymal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of flash fiction and short stories featuring various characters. Mostly Solas/Lavellan. Stories four, twelve, thirteen, and thirty contain Trespasser spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dwarf Called Druffalo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric tries to give Mal Cadash a nickname.

“So,” Varric said from his seat on a nearby rock, “how about ‘Druffalo’?”

“For what? Dinner?” Mal asked absently.

The Hinterlands were sunny and warm today with a cool breeze to help chill the sweat. Blackwall had pulled his hair into a bun while he pitched the tents. Mal was helping out by watching with a small smile and deciding she liked it. She liked it very much. _Now, how to get him to wear it like that all the time._

“Everyone needs a nickname, Inquisitor. I’m thinking 'Druffalo’ for you.”

Blackwall stopped in the middle of hammering a stake into the grass with an incredulous expression. “Are you serious?”

Laughing, Dorian looked up from sorting through his pack. “Oh, he’s serious. Dreadful, isn’t it?”

 _Maybe a simple compliment will do the trick,_ she thought.

“Blackwall—” she began but then her brain caught up with the conversation and she blinked. “Wait. What?”

“I should of known you weren’t listening,” he said dryly. “Too busy staring at Hero over there.”

Smirking, she sent Blackwall a wink. “So what if I was?”

He coughed and went back to his work, though Mal could see the smile beneath his beard. A slight blush of pleasure reddened her cheeks as she turned to Varric.

“Hey, don’t let me stop you.” He lifted a hand. “You can ogle our rugged companion all you like. But now that I’ve got your attention…”

“Right. The nickname thing. What was it again?”

“'Druffalo’. Though I’m not married to the idea.”

“That’s only because your crossbow got to you first,” Blackwall muttered.

Mal gave him a sideways glance as she grinned at them both. “Is that a comment on my weight, Varric? I would have thought you’d like a girl with a little meat on her bones.”

“What? No. You know the saying, 'like a druffalo in a porcelain—’” Varric shook his head. “Shit. Nevermind. It was a terrible idea.”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow. “Only just now figured that out, did you?”

“Watch it, Sparkler. Bianca likes to bite.”


	2. She Wanted You to be Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between Solas and Wisdom. Based on a party banter between him and Cole.

For the first time in an age, he came to her smiling. Bright and warm where usually there was only sorrow. She wondered and hope was near.

“You are happy,” Wisdom said with her own smile. “I am glad.”

“I—” he looked startled and his expression grew troubled. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Should you not be happy, lethallin?” The hand of Wisdom on his cheek— hushed and glittering— but he bowed his head and turned away.

“The Inquisitor. She is…not what I expected,” he said but it was not an answer.  
“That is a good thing when she can make you smile so.”

“No.” Sadness like wishing, aching. Silence where there should be music. “It isn’t.”

“Without love, lethallin, we become the worst part of ourselves,” she told him, gentle as the whisper of leaves but her roots went strong and deep. “Let yourself love.”

“Caring for her can only end in tragedy. For both of us.” He paced a few steps, quick and taut and stretched, then shook his head. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

 _Give up your plans, lethallin_ , she wanted to say. _What was before is gone. Let it rest. Quiet memories in the shadows. Where they can hurt you no longer._ But Wisdom knew when to be silent, when he would listen and when he would not. He could not see wisdom when his eyes were shrouded with grief and pain, sharp and stifling. Dark and barbed when it should be free. The knife was pointing at him and she was sorry.

He was speaking now of other things, of what needed to be done. Watching and listening, Wisdom guided when she could but there was no joy. Only hurting hope that love could do what Wisdom could not. _I hope that you will let yourself be happy, lethallin,_ she thought. _I hope that you will listen even though I know you will not._


	3. To Untie the Knot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day one fill for the 30 Day Roleplaying Challenge featuring Saehin Lavellan.
> 
> Prompt: Describe your character’s relationship with their mother or their father, or both.

Saehin frowned at the staff in front of her, trying to decide if it could be salvaged. They had found it in a ruin half-swallowed by the forest and it was very old and worn. But beneath the scars left by time, the metal was intricately made and decorated in such a way that made it clear it had been the work of passion. It’s day, it would have been impressive but now pieces of the wing-like shapes that formed the head had broken away and a long crack ran down the length of it, nearly splitting it in two. Despite this, it still hummed eagerly in her hands. 

Her mother had once said that any staff could be mended as long as it still had life. Saehin couldn’t say if that was true— her mother’s crafting skills hadn’t thought much of her daughter— but it was worth an attempt, at least.

“She misses you.”

She startled slightly. Cole was sitting in the feathery grass next to her when only a moment before, she’d been alone. A chill breeze made the torchlight flicker and had her pulling her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. Would she ever get used to his sudden appearances?

“Who does?”

“Your mother,” he said and peered at her owlishly from beneath his hat. “Wanting. Wishing. Pain like the first day without her. _I should have stayed_.”

The little bells at the end of her braid tinkled softly as she gave a wary glance around the camp. The Iron Bull was still awake and sharpening each of his daggers with a whetstone several feet away but she wasn’t looking for him. It was Solas she didn’t want to hear. It was Solas that didn’t have a right to know. Not now.

“He’s asleep and can’t listen. Wandering and fixed. Sad because now he doesn’t want to.”

“I don’t care if he is sad,” she said flatly.

“Yes, you do,” he chided but it was gentle, only trying to remind her of herself. “Sharp words that cut both ways. You don’t mean them but it hurts too much to keep to yourself. What happened before only makes it worse. _She_ tried to help but you weren’t ready to hear.”

Sighing, Saehin shook her head as a sudden wave of exhaustion came over her. Why was he making her think about these things? “What are you trying to accomplish, Cole?”

“The hurt is old. Quiet and almost forgotten but connected. One knot out of many in a long thread. You’ll feel better once it’s gone.”

She stared at him— silent and tense— and he watched her back. His face was still in that way that all spirits seemed to have as he waited but in his eyes was something else. It reminded her of comforting laughter and spicy hot chocolate the way the Iron Bull made it. Of a warm voice and long fingers intertwined with hers. She looked away.

“First she lost him and then she lost you. Parts of you were everywhere she looked.” He blinked, and it made him look sad. “It just hurt too much.”

“We would have seen one another at the Arlathvhens if she’d stayed,” she told him. Irritation prickled across her skin and she curled her hands into her cloak. “She didn’t lose me.”

“No, another clan came and took you away. She was so _angry_ when she learned.” Cole voice became distant; a reflection of someone else. “ _Why not Aen? Or Ranys? Why does Deshanna need my only child?_ She didn’t ask because she already knew. _Daughter of a flat-ear_. They never liked your father.”

At first, Saehin said nothing. She listened to the whisper of the night wind through the grass, the rhythmic _shushing_ of steel against stone, and the crackle of wood as their fire fed. Something in her reached out and sighed. _Let it go._

“Do you—” She took a careful breath. “Do you know where I can find her?”

A flash of a small smile— happy— and he nodded. “Loud and mournful. Echoing across an ocean. She’s far away but we can look for her together.”

“…Thank you.”


	4. A Broken Chord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day two fill for the 30 Day Roleplaying Challenge featuring Saehin Lavellan. Contains major Trespasser Spoilers.
> 
> Prompt: What are your characters most prominent physical features?

With how quickly this world moved, Solas hadn’t expected her to be so…unchanged. Her hair— dark and wild and beautiful— was captured into its usual braid. The mouth he had kissed and loved into a smile more than once was as serious as ever. The scar that jumped from cheek to chin had not faded. Even her armor— in greens and blues that had always suited her— remained the same. Only her missing scarf and bells showed that any time had passed at all. Somehow, it hurt to see them gone.

Saehin had fallen to her knees, curling in on herself with a half-strangled cry of pain as the Anchor crackled with energy. With a thought, he helped its magic severed a few of the threads that bound it to her and it calmed. He could hear the relief in her shuddering breath as she climbed back to her feet. When she met his eyes, he couldn’t help his smile, tinged with sadness as it was. His heart was warm and beating in his chest again even if only briefly. 

“That should give us more time,” he said. “I suspect you have questions.”

“Not as many as I did earlier.” Her voice was throaty. More so than he remembered and he realized that the faint, echoing screams he’d heard must have come from her. “You’re Fen'Harel.”

“Well done.” A spark of pride flickered though he had never expected anything less from her. “I was Solas first. ‘Fen'Harel’ came later…An insult that I took as a badge of pride.”

He could not read her reaction. His vhenan had never been particularly expressive unless she desired to be but there had always been something to give her away. A shift of her shoulders when she grew restless or uncomfortable. The way her chin tilted as she offered a challenged. How the corner of her mouth would curve when she was displeased. Now, there was only calm dispassion that cut deeper than any blade ever could.

“And now you know.” He looked away. “What is the old Dalish curse? 'May the Dread Wolf take you’?”

“When have I ever paid attention to what the Dalish say, Solas?” she asked. A bit of anger had broken through, giving her words a bite. “Was it before or after I asked you to remove my vallaslin?”

She hadn’t as long as he’d known her. Though she knew every legend, she didn’t cling as tightly to them as the rest of her people for reasons she had never explained outright. But his vhenan was practical and believed in only what could be proven to her. He supposed that was why she had never believed that he loved her, no matter how much he meant it.

When he said nothing, Saehin shook her head as she took a step towards him but he carefully kept the distance between them. “I _trusted_ you.”

Solas turned away and let his eyes fall closed. _I know, vhenan. I am sorry_. He began to explain to her the long hidden truth and whatever questions she asked, he answered honestly if not fully. She was owed that much from him if nothing else. When at last he told her his future plans, it was with his back to her so that he could not see her face, only listen to the clink and rasp of her armor as she approached. He waited— preparing himself— but she did nothing.

“Do you even know what you sound like?” Her voice was mild and closer than he had expected it to be. She had not always been so quiet. “You sound like Corypheus.”

Tensing, he faced her. “I do not claim to be a god, vhenan. Nor do I take pleasure in what must be done.”

“Is that what you saw in him?” Something in her tone made him narrow his eyes as he looked down at her. Tilting her chin, she met the look unflinchingly. “Corypheus thought he was saving the world. He thought he was saving his _people_. Is it even necessary for this world to be destroyed? Or is it simply easier?”

He had already opened his mouth to speak when he realized what she was doing. A soft laugh escaped him. _You were always formidable, vhenan, but now you have learned._ She’d challenged him, prodded him into a reaction so when she showed her hand, he would not think to use caution. Misdirection for what she somehow knew he wouldn’t freely tell her. 

“A good question but not one I will answer,” he said, smiling from both fondness and slight amusement. “Despite your maneuvering. It would be too easy to tell you too much.”

He watched her, wondering what she would do. Her face was still— undisturbed as if she’d never intended anything by the question at all— but not her dark, sharp eyes. They were flashing with intelligence and more than a little rebelliousness and Solas was certain he had never loved her as much as he did in that moment. _You have already changed the world_ , he thought to her. _What more could you accomplish if given the opportunity?_

His smile, small as it was, died as it was overtaken by a burst of pain. Pain and regret and enough sorrow to drown him in. _I am sorry it must be this way, vhenan_. But it was not about him or her or the things he wished could be. It was about a terrible mistake that all must now pay for.

Something of his thoughts must have shown because her face had softened into sadness and she reached out a slender hand to cup his cheek. His heart constricted with want. For a breath, he allowed himself to dream but he knew he could not let her touch him. If she touched him, it would be his undoing and the undoing of everything he knew he must do. Avoiding her eyes, he caught her wrist then gently released it. Saehin said nothing, only tucked her hand back at her side and moved to a distance that was safer for both of them.

He clasped his hands behind his back once more, so tightly that he could feel the bones strain. When he looked at her, it wasn’t to see the shuttered 

expression that he expected but something raw and hurt and grieving. Solas forced himself still and continued speaking, enduring. 

_I am so sorry._


	5. Dragon Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day three fill for the 30 Day Roleplaying Challenge featuring Saehin Lavellan. Set sometime between allying with the mages and Haven's destruction.
> 
> Prompt: Name one scar your character has, and tell us where it came from.

Saehin’s barrier failed under the dragon’s fire. It caught her in the hip and thigh and engulfed her armor in an instant. The pain was unbelievable— deep and agonizing and so hot it was _white_ — and she couldn’t imagine how a person could experience it and still live. Something sharp sliced at her ear as she fell to the ground but the realization was distant because the dragon was screaming and the others were shouting and she was _still on fire_.

She did the only thing she could think of. The first spell was clumsy, only making the flames eating at her flesh spit like angry vipers. A second cast. Then a third and finally she managed it. Ice formed with a flash of sharp pain and grew until it had swallowed her hip and leg down to her knee. The killed the fire and some of the pain dulled.

Trembling, she tried to push herself back onto her feet with the help of her staff and threw up into the dirt instead. Something— a dragonling— shrieked as Saehin coughed and spit. She looked up to see the creature was only inches away. She lurched back, casting, as its jaws snapped at her face. A wall of earthen spikes erupted and speared it through the head. It twitched as it died and then a second dragonling was leaping over it and at her.

She tried to summon a barrier but was too slow. It slammed into her, knocking her onto her back and pinning her there. She waited but the blow never came. The creature was still and heavy enough on her chest to suffocate. After a moment, she shoved at it and someone else was shoving with her. Together, they pushed it off of her then a large, square hand grabbed her arm and helped her to sit up.

“You alright there, Sad Eyes?” Varric asked. His eyes flickered to her leg where some of the ice had been broken off to reveal blackened flesh. “Shit.”

“Yes,” she said.

Saehin kept her own gaze firmly away from her hip and leg though it was like straining against a lead. _Do not look at it_. So, instead she looked at the corpse of the second dragonling. A bolt was buried in its eye almost up to the fletching and blood and fluid were leaking out to trail down its scales. Bile rose up in her throat and she swallowed. Before she could vomit, she turned back to Varric.

The ground shuddered and the dragon let out a deafening cry. Metal rang and crashed and the feeling of magic meant to harm prickled across her skin. Heart pounding, she tried to stand but Varric put a strong hand on her shoulder and pushed her back until she was lying down.

“Just stay there, alright? The thing’s almost dead. Tiny and Chuckles can take it from here.”

Saehin could only nod. What ice remained on her burns was melting and cracking as the magic holding it dissipated. The pain was returning in full force and with it was the smell of hot metal and charred meat. Panting, she tried to cast— to pour magic into healing and when that failed, to freeze her flesh— but it was like trying to carry water with a leaky bucket.

Silence fell heavy and sudden. Varric was shouting and waving the others over as a fresh wave of agony left her gasping. Saehin squeezed her eyes shut and tears leaked out. Biting pain and cold flared on her flesh and receded. A hot hand on her forehead and she pried her eyes open again. Solas was kneeling next to her as the Iron Bull stood over them both, rumbling a swear and blocking the sun.

“Try to calm your breathing,” Solas said, frowning.

She knew that she should. It was too short, too fast but she couldn’t seem to control it. Black spots were dancing in the corners of her vision as the world spun. The Anchor was crackling and bright— the usual nauseating ache small and feeble compared to her burns— but she couldn’t control that either.

Solas disappeared and then the Iron Bull was carrying her, one arm around her shoulders and the under her knees. It was too much. A shock of pain and she remembered nothing else.

* * *

The next few days were the worst she’d ever known.

She’d lost consciousness for only moments. During the hike to the Inquisition camp and the following surgery, she was awake for almost all of it. Her chainmail had melted then fused to her flesh as sharp shards when she’d cast her ice spell. They’d had no surgeon so the job of removing the metal pieces had fallen to a steady-handed scout as one of the mage healers watched. They’d given her something to subdue her— something strong and unfamiliar— but it only just eased the process.

Each cut she felt and made her clamp her teeth on the strip of leather in her mouth. Each tug had her jerking against the straps that held her still. Tears flowed freely from beneath the hand she kept over her eyes. The other one— the one marred by the Anchor— she used to dig into the table until her fingers dripped blood to join the rest spilling out of her.

At some point, someone pried her nails out of the wood and held her hand. Cool, soothing magic washed over it and calmed the mark she hadn’t even realized had been in turmoil. _Solas_ , her sluggish mind told her. _It’s Solas_. She wanted to shove him away— no one should be seeing her like this, especially him— but instead she clung to him, desperate and grateful. He let her and she could even feel his thumb stroke her knuckles in a gentle way. Then a soft curl of his magic began to travel up her arm and wrapped itself around her ears like a whisper. A breath and it sent her over the edge into sleep.

* * *

When she awoke, it was day and she was lying on a cot in a small tent under a mountain of woolen blankets. Her hip and leg were both left uncovered but for layers of bandages to hide her injuries. Cold wetness was seeping into the skin beneath the linen, dulling the sharp blade of pain slightly, and she recognized the feeling of burn salve. Saehin didn’t know how long she had been asleep but she felt boneless with exhaustion and already her eyes were flickering shut.

Someone pushed aside the tent’s entrance, letting in bright sun and a blast of warm summer air. She turned her head to look. It was a human mage carrying a tray laden with cloth and several jars filled with greenish gel. She knew him but it took a moment of staring for her to remember. _He oversaw the surgery._

“Ah.” He smiled in what she thought must be a pleased way. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.” Her voice was weak and rough but she managed. “Wonderful, isn’t it.”

The mage didn’t seem to notice her tone and only grinned wider. “Just so. You’ve been out of it rather longer than any of us expected. About a day, if you’re wondering.”

Saehin wished it had been longer still but she said nothing and watched as he set his tray down on the little table near her cot.

“Fresh bandages,” he explained. “You wouldn’t know it but you’ve been leaking like a sieve.”

Whistling, he hooked a nearby stool with his foot and dragged it over to sit on. He picked up a pair of scissors and began cutting away the cloth strips starting at her knee. It was quick work and soon enough he was carefully peeling away the last layer. The brush of air stung and she propped herself up on her elbows to get a look. One glance and she wished she hadn’t.

The wound was a ruin of red, gaping flesh that seeped a constant flow of yellowish fluid. Her stomach flipped. She had seen plenty of injuries during her time as her clan’s healer but nothing quite like this. The mage saw her pale and smiled sympathetically.

“It helps if you don’t look.”

“Why isn’t it healing?”

“It is.” After grabbing a jar, he scooped up a gob of salve and began smearing it onto the worst spot on her hip. Saehin sucked in a breath, her eyes rolling, but the pain settled quickly as the cooling ointment spread. “It was much worse yesterday. Believe me. You’re going to end up with a nasty scar, I’m sorry to say.”

Swallowing, she laid back down and the healer fell silent. Soon enough, her leg and hip were bandaged and she was left alone. A vague memory was plucking at her thoughts, trying to make her see, but she couldn’t quite catch it. She lifted her marked hand and stared at it. It was because of what they’d given her that she had forgotten, she was certain, but the knowledge didn’t calm the fear that began to flutter in her chest. _Remember, damn you._

The Anchor was still, just an ugly scar on her palm, but the sight of it stirred her thoughts. It came back to her in fits and starts, flashes of frozen moments. A long-fingered hand grasping hers. The feel of another’s magic quieting the mark as agony ripped through her burns. A small, comforting caress from someone she hadn’t expected.

She let her hand drop, feeling strange. _Why would he do that?_ She didn’t know and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do with this information either. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut the memory out and sleep but it lingered.

_Why would he do that?_


	6. It Matters Because You Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day four of the 30 Day Roleplaying Challenge featuring Saehin Lavellan.
> 
> Prompt: How vain is your character? Do they find themselves attractive?

Saehin could feel the eyes of the Orlesian nobles crawling over her as she walked down the length of the ballroom. They lingered on her sharp ears, her golden vallaslin, and on other places, too. Her mouth threatened to curl but she smothered it as much as she could. _There will be enemies of the Inquisition watching_ , Josephine had told her. _Anything less than a pleasant smile will be taken as a sign of weakness. Or if you cannot manage that, at least try not to look as if you plan to murder them all_. Saehin had only blinked at her. _Maybe I do._

Poor Josephine had looked like she’d swallowed vinegar.

Their party stopped below the Empress and each of them bowed, though Saehin very stiffly. They looked very well together; they’re clothing was simple but rich and similar enough to give the sense of being uniforms. She knew that the deep blue color suited her but she would have much rather have worn her armor and been done with it. To her annoyance, only the Commander had paid any attention to the suggestion.

By the end of the evening, she looked like a wild thing out of the woods. The gold ornaments that had been woven into her hair were tangled and half-vanished beneath the curls. She was covered in dust and blood and her coat was wrinkled and singed. With Celene’s death, no one cared for once and Saehin least of all. She took little interest in her own appearance at the best of times and that was definitely not tonight.

 _Mostly._ She corrected herself as Solas put his hand on her waist. His eyes never left her face as they danced and what she saw in them made a blush stain her cheeks. He smiled.

“You are very beautiful, vhenan.”

Suddenly shy, Saehin looked down at her feet. Maybe she did care what she looked like. Just a little.


	7. You Don't Need to Pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day five fill for the 30 Day Roleplaying Challenge featuring Saehin Lavellan.
> 
> Prompt: What’s your character’s orientation?

“Are you staying?”

Solas paused and searched her face. Saehin waited with only a slight shift of her shoulders, letting him draw his own conclusions. It was up to him what the question meant.

“If you like,” he said eventually.

After a moment, he sat down— on the sofa by the stairs, she noted— and began removing the wrappings that wound around his feet and calves. She felt a twist of nerves at the sight and moved to the vanity near her bed. Like always, she stripped to her undershirt and small clothes first then tackled her hair. The leather tie with its merry bells she placed in its little dish then she carefully separated her braid. She was just running her comb through the ends when she heard Solas move to stand behind her.

Saehin turned to look at him. His belt was gone and his feet bare but he was still fully clothed and something told her that he would stay that way. He held his hand out and, like always, she was struck by the grace that formed it.

“Allow me,” he said.

Her grip tightened on the comb and she shook her head. “It’s not necessary.”

“I am aware of that, vhenan.” He lifted an eyebrow and though she still struggled to decipher his more subtle expressions, she knew that this one was teasing. “I made the offer because I wished to. Nothing more.”

The words were pointed and she huffed a slight laugh. Is there nothing I can hide from you? She had wanted to— in her way— but she couldn’t deny the relief that unfolded in her chest. For him, she didn’t need to pretend. Nothing was expected from her. She could love him as she was.

“You are going to regret it once you realize how long it takes,” she warned but she handed over the comb with only a small amount of reluctance.

“We shall see.”

His touch was gentle— much more so than she would have been— as he detangled her thick curls by candle and firelight. With each careful stroke, Saehin felt herself relax more and more until her eyes had fluttered shut without her notice. The headache that had somehow become a part of her during the last several months faded away and she was more at rest than she’d been in years.

A kiss to the top of her head. “Vhenan?”

“Yes?” she murmured but didn’t open her eyes.

“Come to bed.”

Sighing, she roused just enough to walk the few feet to the bed and crawl under the covers. She felt Solas lay down behind her and wrap his arm around her waist. For a moment, he was still but then a curl of her hair must have tickled his nose because he was coughing and sneezing into her ear. A laugh bubbled up but before she could release it, Saehin was asleep.


	8. Solas and Saehin are Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being overrun in the Fallow Mire, Solas and Saehin come back from the dead. Zombie AU for Solas Fluff Friday. Solavellan.

Her last memory just before the corpse dragged her under is of Solas being run through with a sword.

Saehin remembered other things too, of course. How the air stank of sickness and death that the near-constant rain never seemed able to wash away. Iron Bull swinging his axe in wide sweeps as he tried to reach her through the swarm. Cole’s calling out their names, his voice high with despair. The way the water felt—slimy and cold and horrible—as it filled her lungs. It was all with her but watching Solas die…That one was the clearest.

She sighed but it came out more like a drawn out gurgle. It was hard to know exactly how long ago that had been but she imagined it as only a few days at most. Neither her or Solas looked too dreadful; her skin was sallow and bloated and he was still finding maggots in his belly but they were still mostly intact. She wasn’t sure what it mattered but she supposed that if they were going to inhabit their own corpses then it was best if they weren’t leaving a trail of body parts behind them.

Solas was standing by the lake—looking rather forlornly out over the water, she thought— so she walked over to him and somewhat clumsily placed her hand on his shoulder. It got his attention but it was also the deathblow for her littlest finger. It broke off, tumbling down his water-logged robes and landing in the lake with a plop. For a moment, they both simply stared in stunned silence. Then Solas leaned down, fished it out, and presented it to her.

Not sure what else to do, she accepted it and tried putting it back onto her hand. Bone ground and flesh squished but it remained stubbornly detached. Solas watched her struggle then fumbled it away from her and gave it a go. She would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t worried that they’d pop right out of the sockets but she didn’t move as he twisted and wiggled her finger into position. It stayed for a breath, teetering on the edge, before the stress was too much and it threw itself back into the lake.

This time, they left it to feed whatever fish had been taking nibbles in the first place.

“I think it was the Breach,” Saehin said. 

Well, attempted to say, at least. The words were garbled and more like differently pitched moans than speech but Solas’ blink—first one lid and then the other dragging behind—seemed to indicate some understanding. 

“We’re back because of the Breach,” she reiterated with a gesture at the cloud-covered sky, just in case.

At first—before she had realized that Solas was technically alive, too—she had assumed that it was the Anchor that had brought her back. It hasn’t stopped glowing and spitting green fire since she’d woken up so she still thought it was due some of the blame but obviously it hadn’t acted alone. Solas would be doing a much more convincing job of being dead, otherwise.

“That is likely the cause, yes,” he said or she thought he did. If possible, he sounded even more unintelligible than she had.

“We should find an Inquisition camp. The Anchor is active and maybe if I close the Breach for good, we’ll stay dead next time.”

A noise wheezed out of his throat, a hacking cough that it took her a moment to realize was actually a laugh. “One can always hope.”

He began to shuffle his way to the road but she stopped him with another smack to his shoulder. All pieces of her remained attached and she let out a gurgle with relief. There was something she wanted to do and it would have been completely ruined if she’d had to go poking about for another finger. He turned back and before he knew what was happening, she crashed her lips into his.

It was more like a kiss between two dead fish than two people but Saehin didn’t care. She had been wanting to do it for a long time and she figured that this would be the last chance she’d ever get. When she staggered away from him, Solas was gaping at her, one side of his face sagging slightly. She would have been blushing if she’d had any blood left in her but she didn’t so she wasn’t and she thought there was at least one benefit to being a corpse.

The silence had stretched too long so she started to shuffle by, embarrassment making what remained of her stomach twist into knots. She was almost past him when his hand latched onto hers, his grip unexpectedly strong. Smiling crookedly at her, he threaded their fingers together as best he could and squeezed. A fluttery, warm feeling filled her empty spaces and it was almost like she had never died at all.

She smiled back at him and together they limped off in search of the Inquisition.


	9. The Kestrel and the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day eleven fill for the 30 Day Roleplaying Challenge featuring Saehin Lavellan.  
> Prompt: Is there an animal you equate with your character?

 

Many years ago, when the magic of the world was half-forgotten and dragons flew in the sky, there was a very lonely kestrel. She had been shunned by her flock and now wandered the world on her own, learning all there was to learn and searching for a place to rest her wings.

One day, curiosity gusted beneath her feathers and lifted her to the very top of a snow-capped mountain. It was there that she came across an injured dove, pinned to the earth by a monstrous creature the likes of which she had never before seen. This creature towered above its prey with a countenance that was sinister and distorted by strange crystals, red as blood.

As the creature moved to lay the deathblow upon the dove, the kestrel swooped down with a battle cry that echoed through the mountainside. With beak and gleaming talons, she gouged at its strange skin as it roared and sought to crush her in its paws. She darted and swooped and struck like lightening but the creature was fast too.

It struck, catching her in the wing and sending her crashing into the snow. As it loomed over her, the kestrel thought her life was ended but then the dove darted up and pecked out one of the creature's eyes. The monster screamed and ran off, wounded and weak and knowing it had been beaten.

Tucking her broken wing in close, the kestrel turned to the dove to thank it and could only chatter in distress at its state. Blood, bright and fresh, stained the dove's pearly feathers just over its heart and she knew that it did not have long.

"I am sorry—" the kestrel began but the dove hushed her with a soothing coo.

"Do not be, my friend. You did all that you could and for that, I thank you."

The dove fell silent and she nestled down beside it in the chilly snow until it had drawn its last breath. Unable to do anything else, she could only let out a long, sad cry and leave its body where it lay.

Her wing was too injured to carry her aloft so the kestrel made her way as best she could by foot. For many hours she walked until her legs were too weary to go any further and she tucked herself among the roots of a tree to rest. It was sometime later that she awoke with a start to find the cold, wet nose of a wolf snuffling and nudging at her feathered head.

Puffing up her chest threateningly, she clacked her beak at his tender flesh until he backed away, thoroughly chastised.

"I apologize," the wolf said, his voice low and calm. "I did not intend to frighten you but you are hurt and I only wished to provide what help I could."

She glared at him with one dark eye and tried to determine the truth of his words. He was an unusually large wolf with fur of a brilliant white and many depth-less lakes of the deepest blue for eyes. The kestrel knew that he could kill her most brutally with a single snap of his toothy jaws but she was not afraid. If he tried, he would learn that despite her small size, she would not digest well.

"Why would a wolf help someone like me?" she asked, distrustful but also curious now about this strange individual.

"You are a living thing, are you not?" He tilted his head and his numerous eyes opened and closed in a cascade of blinks. "Whatever our differences, I would not see you suffer unnecessarily."

"And how would you help?"

"You need a place that is warm and safe from the dangers of the world. I can provide you with one."

He knelt, offered his shoulder for the kestrel to climb on, and waited. Eyeing him and clicking her beak nervously, she considered. She was very suspicious indeed but she was also injured and so very alone. It had been many years since she'd had any kind of companionship and something about the wolf told her that he was as lonesome as she.

Decided, the kestrel tried to climb on but no matter how she hopped or scrambled, she simply couldn't manage. The wolf let out a great sigh as her talons scratched and pulled at his fur before eventually he picked her up in his jaws. Though his grip was gentle, she was tense and very, very still as he carried her over the snow and through the woods.

When they came upon a great hollow in the mountainside, he trotted inside and carefully sat her down upon a bed of pine needles. She puffed her feathers and looked around.

"Is this your home?" she asked.

"It is," he answered with a duck of his head. "It is here that I sleep and dream and wander the world beyond this one."

"Truly? I have heard the tales but I had not thought it possible."

The wolf settled down not too far away and faced her, a patient smile tugging at his lips. "A common misconception. Not only is it possible but one must simply walk through the door."

"What is it like?"

"It is a world where thought and emotion shape reality," he told her and she could hear the current of passionate longing that ran through his voice. "Where the dreams of lost civilizations still linger. I have found memories that no other living being has seen."

"That's incredible." A blast of icy wind swirled into the cave and the kestrel shivered as she walked over to huddle against the wolf's warmth. Beneath her ear, his heart beat to a rhythm that none had heard in an age. "Would you tell me of them?"

He was still and silent for a long moment before he curled his bushy tail around her and spoke. "If you wish, I would be happy to share them with you."

And so he did and thus they passed the time as the kestrel slowly healed. Their friendship was slow to grow but grow it did until they were as important to one another as the sun was to the earth. The long, lonely days of the kestrel's life disappeared into distant memory and for the first time in a long while, she was happy. And when the wolf took out his heart and gave it to her to keep, she did the same and swore that his heart would be always safe. As he smiled and nuzzled her feathers, she knew that he was promising the same.

Eventually, she was ready to take to the skies once again. The morning was bright and clear and as pale sunlight crawled into their cave, the kestrel stretched her wings and chattered with pleasure. The wolf watched her quietly, his eyes shadowed, and when she moved to comb his fur with her beak as she did every morning, he paced away from her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"You are healed," he said and though his voice was not unkind, unease ruffled her feathers, "and it is time for you to go."

"What—what do you mean?"

"I'm sorry. I should have never allowed what was between us to go so far."

"I don't understand."

"And nor will you." The wolf looked sad but determined. "I am sorry."

"No." She flapped her wings, her beak clacking as hurt rapidly turned to anger. "No. I deserve an answer and I will not leave until—"

He lunged, snapping his teeth, and the kestrel took to the air with a cry of surprise. The heart in her chest was shattering and raining pieces of itself onto the earth below as she flapped her wings. She let the wind and her grief carry her far away and it was many hours later when she finally stopped.

It took some time but her temper had settled and she realized that though her wolf had hurt her fiercely, she could not give up on him. For the heart in her chest was his and through it she could feel his pain, something old and deep that lingered beneath all other. It thrummed through her and made her own hurt seem very small. Once more, it was feeling that lifted her wings and the kestrel took off in search of something to heal her wolf's heart.


	10. A Song in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day six fill for the 30 Day Roleplaying Challenge featuring Saehin Lavellan.  
> Prompt: Describe your character’s happiest memory.   
> “Babae” is taken from Project Elvhen.

 

"Dareth shiral, emma lath. Lathbora viran."

Her father was singing, his voice deep and rumbling beneath her ear. Saehin didn't know what the words meant but somehow they made her a little sad even as a glow of happiness warmed her. She was curled up in his lap— her tiny hands fisted into his shirt and his arms enclosing her in safety— as he reclined beneath a tree far away from the rest of the clan. Her father's bow and arrows were leaning against its trunk, half-forgotten. He had said he was going to begin teaching her to hunt today but as soon as they were out of sight, he'd winked at her. _I'm not feeling much like working on this beautiful day. How about you, da'len?_

She had shaken her head with a grin and they had been whiling away the hours enjoying the summer weather ever since.

She looked up at him as the last note faded into silence. "Sing another, babae."

"I'll sing them all for you, sweet one," he kissed her forehead with a smile, "but you have to keep them between us. You can tell your mamae but no one else. They will not understand."

"Why not?" she asked, her face scrunched up into a frown.

Her father tucked her wild hair behind her ear and he stroked its sharp point with his thumb. "The Dalish think themselves the keepers of our history but those of us in the cities have our own stories."

She still didn't quite understand but she nodded anyway. Even when she listened to no one else, she always listened to her father.

"Yes, babae."

"Have you heard the one about Alanar?"

But he didn't wait for an answer before letting the song roll free. She buried her face into her chest as he hugged her to him, warm and safe and loved.


	11. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day seven fill the the 30 Day Roleplaying Challenge featuring Saehin Lavellan.  
> Prompt: Is there one event or happening your character would like to erase from their past? Why?

 

Her mother was crying as they lowered Saehin's father into the earth. It was silent but Saehin could see the wetness on her cheeks from where she stood with the rest of the clan. She wished that she was with her mother instead but her aunt had guided her away before the burial had begun. _Let your mamae say her goodbyes, da'len_. Saehin had said nothing, too numb to do more than blink as her aunt's hand settled on her shoulder.

As the Keeper said Falon'Din's prayer, they started to fill in the grave. The sound of it carried across the small clearing with a strange sort of rhythm and she had to look away. With each fall of earth, she flinched and she desperately focused on the Keeper's words but that only made it worse. Her father hadn't believed in the gods— not truly— and she didn't think she did, either. Not when they were so useless. Not when she'd begged as her father died bleeding and they did nothing. Not when she'd given every offering, said every prayer and he still—

"Saehin."

Her mother's voice was quiet and rough— unrecognizable— and she felt a surge of anger at it. She wanted to ignore her, to stand there and make her mother come to _her_ , and she didn't even know why. It wasn't mamae's fault but somehow it was and she didn't think she could forgive her for it. She opened her mouth— to tell her so, to cry, to scream— but a glance at her mother's face and they all withered into silence. 

Her aunt gave her shoulder a squeeze that she barely felt as she walked over to the grave. The hole where her father was, was now a small mound of dark soil. Together they knelt and planted the seed that would grow and grow until one day it was a tree as strong as any. Her mother hugged her tight when they were done and Saehin could feel the tears that shuddered through her. 

_I should be crying,_ she realized suddenly. _My babae is gone and I should be crying._ But she couldn't. All she could do was stand there, her arms loose at her sides and her cheek pressed into mamae's shoulder.


	12. Something Like Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day eight fill for the 30 Day Roleplaying Challenge featuring Saehin Lavellan. Contains major Trespasser spoilers.  
> Prompt: Day of Favorites! What’s your character’s favorite color?

 

Saehin was staring. There was a map open on the table in front of her but she'd long stopped actually looking at it. She needed to be working, to be planning their next move, but that knowledge wasn't spurring her into action. If anything, it made her sink deeper into her chair, empty.

Something soft hit her in the face and she startled. She looked up to see Sera standing across from her with a smug grin. Saehin narrowed her eyes at her.

"Is there a reason I've been assaulted with a..." she blinked, "scarf?"

A silk scarf in deep, royal purple with matching tassels on the edges. It wasn't an exact copy of her old one— being in rather better condition among other things— but it was close.

"I can't stand your frigging moping, is all." Sera's voice became high-pitched and mocking and she waved her hands wildly. "'Oh, the Qun-what's-it tried to kill us. Oh, my arm's been cut off and Egg-butt wants to destroy everything.' Blah blah _blah_."

"Thank you, Sera," Saehin said coldly as she tossed the scarf onto the table. "Very helpful."

Sera scowled and crossed her arms. "It's not my fault you need it spelled out for you. Yeah, shit's gone tits up again but you still haven't snuffed it yet. That's called _winning_ , stupid-arse."

"Winning," Saehin echoed. She failed to see how any part of their situation qualified but a weak, amused smile still quirked her lips. "I must be in a sorry state if even _you_ are worried."

"Yeah, well. Someone had to smack you out of it. Everyone else pissed their pants at the idea."

"I think we might be almost like friends, Sera."

"Ugh, whatever."


	13. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day nine fill the for 30 Day Roleplaying Challenge featuring Saehin Lavellan. Contains major Trespasser spoilers.  
> Prompt: Who does your character trust?

 

Saehin watched through half-lidded eyes as the elven servant acting as her nursemaid moved around the room. She was supposed to be resting, lulled into the Fade by exhaustion and the little vial of poppy tincture they'd left at her bedside. The bed she was laying in had even been turned into a nest of pillows. It was nice and comfortable— perfect for easy sleep— and she felt about as relaxed as a mouse in a snake pit.

The remains of her arm burned and ached and generally made her wish that the Anchor had succeeded in killing her. It wasn't as painful as being broiled by dragon fire but the horror of it managed to bridge the gap. Despite this, she left the tincture untouched and simply gritted her teeth against the misery. She would hear about it from the healer, she was certain, but she was vulnerable enough as it was.

If someone was going to take the opportunity to kill her, she preferred to at least _pretend_ at a fight.

Her nurse had finished gathering up her dirty linens and began sorting the clean ones. She had said her name was Leanore and that she was from the Alienage here in Halamshiral but Saehin had her doubts about that. It was only vague suspicion but she didn't think either Solas or the Qunari would give up on spying on her just yet. Whether they would make an attempt at more...Well, that was precisely why she wasn't sleeping.

Someone was knocking at the door to her suite and Leanore quietly left to answer it. There were muffled voices and then she came back into the bedroom with a bow.

"Ambassador Pavus to see you, Inquisitor."

"Let him in," Saehin muttered.

"Well, you're looking about as terrible as expected," Dorian said as he walked in.

His eyes flickered to where her bandaged arm was propped up onto a pillow and a grimace flashed before he could cover it. Shoulders tensing, she turned away and looked at Leanore.

"You can go."

She bowed again and Saehin waited until she heard the click of the lock before waving Dorian into a chair. He moved it closer to the bed before sitting down and crossing his ankle over his knee.

"Is there a reason you don't have someone keeping an eye on you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "Or are you just feeling particularly daring today? Hoping to lure out your enemies with a show of weakness, perhaps?"

Normally, that would have earned him a nasty comment at the least but she only twisted her lips into something resembling a scowl. "Bull needed to sleep. Cole was here but he left."

She had an idea as to where but she didn't say so. Dorian wouldn't think much of Cole helping Solas, she was sure.

"Well, I suppose we can take that as a sign that no one has any immediate plans to kill you. Isn't that comforting?"

"Immensely."

He let out a laugh and a weak smile tugged at her own lips even as she tried to swallow a yawn.

"I'm guessing that you haven't gotten much sleep since..." Dorian trailed off, frowning.

"No," she said and lifted her bandaged arm a bit off its pillow in explanation.

"Surely they gave you something for the pain?"

"On the table."

He picked up the tincture of poppy and hummed. "No expense spared for the former Inquisitor, apparently. A few doses of this and you won't be lucid for days. I highly recommend it."

"Being intoxicated isn't very appealing at the moment."

"No? That's strange. I _always_ find it appealing. You've just been doing it wrong, no doubt." He held out the bottle and smirked. "If you're concerned about being murdered in your sleep, don't be. I'll protect you."

"Somehow, I'm not reassured," she said but she was smiling as she moved to accept the vial.

Without thinking, she started to reach with her left but the sight of it— wrapped in linen and half _missing_ — reminded her quickly. Her smile died and she snatched up the bottle with her right hand and downed it. Bitterness suffused her mouth, creeping down her throat and making her shudder.

"That would be because you have a fatalistic outlook on life." He plucked the empty vial from her hand and set it back on the bedside table. "It's very depressing, actually."

"I can imagine."

"You know," he said, his tone light and conversational, "the advances they've made with prostheses are quite—"

"Dorian." She looked at him, tired and angry and rather closer to crying than she liked. "Shut up."

"Ah, right. Some other time then."


	14. Don't Startle the Elf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets more than he bargained for when he catches Saehin sketching Solas’ handsome mug.

Saehin sighed quietly as she looked over the latest poorly-done sketch in a series of poorly-done sketches. The Hinterlands were cool and overcast today as Saehin and her companions stopped for their midday meal. She had taken the opportunity to pull out her sketchbook and draw as discreetly as she could manage from a rock some distance away. The sketch was meant to be of Solas; a portrait so that if she ever forgot what he looked like, she would be able to remind herself. As it was, it was a complete failure on that account though somewhat improved from the previous few. She was beginning to realize that drawing people was much more difficult than her usual subjects of plants and animals and the occasional landscape.

Still, Solas was quickly becoming important to her in a way she hadn't anticipated. Being able to remember his face...It mattered more than remembering usually did. She was turning to a fresh page to begin again when a noise had her head jerking up in alarm. It was Dorian, his teeth bright against his skin as he grinned.  
  
"You are—" he started to say but was cut off as her journal flew through the air directly at his face.  
  
It hit him square in the nose, making him jerk back with a loud swear. Her sketchbook landed on the ground with pages open and fluttering in the cool breeze as he grabbed his nose.  
  
He glared at her over his hands, his eyes watery. "You threw a book at me!"  
  
"I have told you not to surprise me that way!" she said defensively.  
  
A trail of blood was leaking past Dorian's hands and her stomach squirmed with guilt. The journal wasn't that heavy; she must have thrown it impressively hard.  
  
"I was speaking to you for a good minute and you responded to me! Twice!"  
  
The others were looking their way now and while Iron Bull and Cole were watching them, Solas' gaze had dropped to the sketchbook. Before he could see the terrible likeness of his own face, she quickly scooped it up and shoved it into her rucksack. He looked at her, his expression plainly curious, and her eyes danced away as her cheeks burned.  
  
Dorian was cursing again—Saehin thought she heard her name mixed in with the muffled Tevene—and was trying to heal himself with little success. She reached up and pulled his hands away from his face so that she could examine the injury. His nose was starting to swell and blood was still collecting in his mustache so she gently prodded at the flesh, feeling for a break. Dorian flinched but he did his best not to move.  
  
"It isn't broken," she said as healing energy gathered in her hands and made them glow with blue light. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Oh, you were looking to properly damage my face, were you?"  
  
"What?" she asked, frowning, but she was concentrating on her spell and it took a moment for her to realize what he meant. "No, I'm sorry I threw a book at you."  
  
"Yes, well." Dorian looked somewhat mollified but a scowl was still twitching his mustache. "Don't believe for a second that I'm letting you off the hook so easily. I saw what you were doing."  
  
Saehin dropped her hands to her sides as her spell finished its work. It would take a little while for the swelling to drain but his nose was fully healed. And bruise-free even, which she thought was fortunate. She'd never have heard the end of it from him otherwise.  
  
"I wasn't doing anything," she said flatly and glanced over at the rest of their party.  
  
"No?" Dorian asked, smirking as he caught the scent of blood.  
  
Iron Bull caught her eye and shook the bottle of wine that had appeared in his hand at some point, grinning. She stared, confused, then caught on.  
  
"I could have sworn you were drawing a portrait of our—"  
  
"The Iron Bull is stealing your wine," she blurted and Dorian cut himself off abruptly.  
  
"What?" He whirled to see Bull now guzzling from the bottle and he let out a noise of disgusted horror. "Vishante kaffas! Must you foul it with your mouth, as well?"  
  
As Dorian stomped over to snatch the bottle away from him, Bull laughed. He said something then that made Dorian bristle but Saehin had stopped listening. Solas had gone back to his meal and Cole was glancing between her and him, his hands restless in his lap. When the spirit realized she was watching him, he tilted his head at Solas, wide-eyed, and she glared. Do not even consider it, she thought. He slumped his shoulders and gave her a dejected look but left it alone.  
  
Silent and slow, she let out a relieved breath as she sat back down. No one was paying any attention to her now. Bull and Dorian were bickering—though it was mostly Bull trying to get a rise out of Dorian then laughing when it worked—and Cole was interjecting comments that had the latter blushing and sputtering. Solas had finished eating and moved off slightly to start trying to patch the tail of his robes. They had somehow gotten burned though they hadn't fought any mages that day and his brow was furrowed in concentration as he considered the damage.  
  
Hesitating but not quite able to resist the pull, Saehin retrieved her notebook and began another sketch, beginning with the slight curl of Solas' lips.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas once set his own coattails on fire. No joke.


	15. He Who Loved the Lady of the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A folktale style telling of the Solas romance. For Solas Fluff Friday but isn't really fluffy. Anonymous prompted: holding hands and / or flower crowns
> 
> Elvhen done with the help of fenxshiral's Project Elvhen.

Once, at a time there was great chaos and tragedy in the world, there was an elf who loved a lady of the sky. For when the wind danced, so did she. As the sun smiled, so did she. And when the stars fell to greet the earth, they turned to flowers upon her hair and he thought her beautiful.

The lady of the sky loved him, as well. For when the spirits spoke, he fell silent to listen. As the people of her world wept, he did not turn away. And though sorrow was his shadow, the sun was in his smile and she thought him beautiful.  
  
In their love, they were happy but the elf was also a wolf and he knew that it could not be for forever.  
  
When the time came, he took her hands which held the moon and the peaceful night and cradled them close. He kissed her lips which breathed the breath of the world as grief stole the tears from his eyes and turned his spirit still. _Ma vhenan. Ma sylvun'in'duin_ , he told his lady of the sky. _I'ma ar vasreëm. I am sorry_. The lady of the sky watched as her elf disappeared beneath the mantle of a wolf and what words she spoke, he could not hear. As the sky wept and she wept with it, he left to fulfill his duty to the People.  
  
Many lonely years passed as the wolf tried to restore them to his world but for all that he did, he could not mend what he had broken. The wind danced sent his work tumbling. The sun smiled and burnt his plans to ash. And at every turn, the lady of the sky breathed and the world breathed with her. Regret and sorrow and self-hate nipped at his heels and it drove him to understanding. It is our life for theirs, the wolf said to the elf. It is our soul for theirs and it is what must be done.  
  
Though the lady of the skies had been silent these many years, she had never stopped listening and she heard what the wolf planned to do. The wind blew, the sun burned, and the world did as she bid but she could not stop the life that turned against itself. As the wolf lay dying, the lady of the sky took his hands which held the heart and the blood of the People and cradled them close. She kissed his lips which mourned the pain of his world as love stole the tears from his eyes and made his spirit soar.  
  
_I am sorry_ , the wolf that was also her elf said. _Ar lath ma. I am sorry_. With a smile that shone with the light of a thousand stars, the lady of the sky hushed him. _Ma vhenan. Ma sylvun'in'duin_ , she told him. _I'ar ma vasreëm_. And so the wolf passed into death and the elf was free in the heart of the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ma vhenan: You are my heart
> 
> Ma sylvun'in'duin: You are the breath in my lungs
> 
> Ar vasreëm i'ma: With you, I am free
> 
> I'ar ma vasreëm: With me, you are free


	16. Elvhenan AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flash fiction challenge fill. Write for five minutes with no editing and no outlines.

_I do not believe in gods._

Saehin reminded herself of this as she was pushed to her knees in front of a false god and her muscles—bruised and bloodied and stiff from days in restraints—screamed. Mythal was a sigh in red robes under golden armor and magic coming off of her in waves. If such a thing as gods existed, she thought that Mythal would be one of them. Dragon fire made flesh.

She wondered if that would be a quick way to die or if she would linger and linger as her flesh melted off of her bones. Soon she would learn, she supposed.

 _I will not allow that to happen_ , Compassion murmured.

 _We will never allow them the satisfaction of your suffering_ , Rebellion agreed, fierce and a fire of her own.

She believed them and it eased some of the fear that pounded in her chest. Enough so that when she spotted the foci in the hands of the unknown elf that stood beside Mythal, she felt Courage surge within.

 _We are already dead_ , he reminded her. _They already plan the worst for us._

That made the last of her fear disappear. It was the truth and it was not as if they hadn't hurt her before. Again and again and again. What did it matter if they did it one last time?

The chains the bound her broke in a flash of light and power and quicker than anyone could react, she was moving with the Fade wrapped around her like a cloak. It carried her forward and close enough to the unknown elf to pluck the orb from his hands in a breath. Just before she stepped away, she looked into his eyes. They were blue, she noticed, and filled with dark promise that she met with a show of teeth.

 _I am ready for you_ , she thought as she vanished through the Fade and away from the temple. _Come and find me._


	17. Forgive Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flash fiction challenge fill. Write for five minutes with no editing and no outlines. Prompt was 'The Three Musketeers AU'. SolasxLavellan

“No!”

A blast of wild magic sent the executioner’s sword wide and Saehin rushed forward. She dropped to her knees in front of Solas and layed her hands against his cheeks. The group had fallen silent behind her but she didn’t care. She didn’t care.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, something breaking inside. Solas was staring into her eyes, his face lined with anguish. “Please, forgive me.”

“There is nothing to be forgiven.”

He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. A sob wrenched itself from her throat, her tears finally spilling.

“Stand up, vhenan,” he said. “Stand up and turn away.”

She shook her head. Her hands dug into his collar like vices.

“No.”

“You must.”

Solas looked away and dipped his chin. Firm hands gripped her shoulders and though she fought, they managed to drag her away.

“ _No_. Solas!”

“Ar lath ma, vhenan. Mala suledin nadas.”

The sword settled back onto his neck and he closed his eyes in acceptance. She never saw him die.


	18. Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was 'romantic headcanon'. Some Trespasser spoilers to be had.

It was her laugh that Solas thought of most often. A rare, precious thing that was reserved only for those that she loved. Even then it was not given as freely as it might have been; except to him. Always for him.

 _She would laugh at this_ , he would think—sudden and without warning just like everything about her—and then his heart would feel as if it had seized in his chest. He would suck in a breath and blink at the burn in his eyes and remind himself that what he was doing was _right_. That the People and this world were more important than him, than the fact that his soul was rending in two, and even more important than her.

He reminded himself, as well, that it should not be only others that suffered under the weight of his mistakes. The pain—so much pain that he wondered sometimes how he could still be living; surely men have died from less—that accompanied every moment was just. _You do not deserve to be free._

 

* * *

 

It was his voice that Saehin thought of most often. The cadence it would take on as he talked of things that were important to him. The gentleness of it as he did what he could to soothe the distress of others. How when he spoke to her—only to her—it would be warm and open and full of a love that stole her breath even now.

She remembered it as he told her what he planned to do and the flesh of her arm melted from the bones. It lurked in her thoughts as she faced the others’ anger as well as her own. As she stood between him and the world and vowed to save him. She remembered it always because it was real and he had forgotten.

 _This is not who you are_ , she would think to him though he was far, far away. _You are love and warmth and compassion and I will help you remember._


	19. Did I Wake You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flash fiction challenge fill. Write for five minutes with no editing and no outlines. Prompt was 'mint'.

Solas awoke to the clinking of porcelain and the smell of mint tea.

It coiled around him soothingly but it was still with great reluctance that he cracked his eyes open to early morning light peeking through the windows. Saehin was on the couch near the stairwell, the little side table crowded with food and dishes and a large ceramic kettle from which fragrant whorls of steam rose. The food was as yet untouched but as he watched, she finished one cup of the tea and poured another.

The kettle clanked loudly as she sat it down.

He followed her hands and then allowed himself the indulgence of admiring the rest of her. A woolen shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, hiding what her nightshirt did not, and she had slipped on stockings to ward away the chill. Her hair was loose—brushed but not yet captured into her usual braid—and the black curls shone. She had her feet tucked beneath her; relaxed and at ease and he could spend a lifetime reliving this moment.

A not at all displeasing way to be woken but he couldn't help the slight feeling of irritation regardless.

Saehin sighed contently and placed her cup back onto its saucer. It clinked again; sharp and sudden and just loud enough to tweek his ears. She looked at him with a smile that twitched with mischief.

"Hello," she said. "Did I wake you?"

"You did. As you had intended, I suspect."

"I wouldn't," she denied instantly but then her sense of mischief overwhelmed her and she laughed.

It was quiet, something of the throaty purr of her voice coloring the sound. It made his heart skip a beat and his breath catch and his own smile curl his lips from the joy of hearing it.

"I did," she confessed. A blush was rising in her cheeks and uncertainty made her eyes dance away. "Are you upset with me?"

He forced himself from the soft warmth of the bed and walked over to place a kiss to her forehead. This close, he could smell lavender in her hair.

"No, vhenan," he told her, "but the frilly cakes are mine."


	20. Stay and Be Merry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is drunk and in love. Dorian/Iron Bull. A fic for xjinsterx as part of my holiday giveaway on tumblr.

A week after Corypheus’ defeat, Dorian still couldn’t believe that they hadn’t all died in horrible, gruesome fashion. If the way everyone was drinking mug after mug of ale was any indication, they couldn’t believe it either. Cheerful conversation, peels of laughter, and terribly out of tune singing all blended together into a loud buzzing in his ears and his nose burned from the haze of smoke in the air. It was a little too raucous for his usual tastes, frankly, but tonight he found himself enjoying it.

Another round of laughter and ale descended upon their table and Dorian grinned. His new drink was just as foul as the previous one but he took a long swallow, regardless. _The ancient magister dead and all of us alive to see it,_ he thought. _It’s practically a children’s tale. You’ve even found someone to sweep him off of his feet. Imagine that._

Next to him, Bull boomed a laugh and he was close enough for him to feel it all the way to his toes. All of a sudden, his chest and cheeks felt as if tiny flames had been ignited inside of them and he buried his face into his mug. That was the alcohol, no doubt; the obvious solution to which was even more of it. And when those flames turned into blazing hearth fires, it _certainly_ wasn’t from Bull hooking his foot around Dorian’s ankle in a small, secret embrace.

Across the table, the Inquisitor gave him a smile that was ridiculously knowing. He scowled but to his annoyance, there wasn’t much heart in it and they only raised their tankard with a wink.

 

* * *

 

The night wore on and the party began to wind down as the candles burned down to nubs. Dorian had drunk enough to not notice the sudden quiet or even that he kept placing his hand in a puddle of hot wax. Another hand—much larger and rough with callouses—moved it back to safety several times before giving up and holding on, instead. It was a nice hold, he thought. Delightfully warm and not unlike a miniature hug. He didn’t think he was inclined to let it leave him anytime soon.

Beside him, someone leaned close. Their breath heated his ear as they spoke.

“Ready to go, kadan?”

Head spinning in pleasant circles, he lifted his face from the table so that he could look over blearily. The skin around Bull’s eye was crinkled with a smile and he was swaying in his seat like a ship at sea. _Are we at sea?_ Dorian wondered, confused, but he was certain that he would remember something like that. Especially given that he would be vomiting up his own intestines at this point.

“Have I told you I hate the sea?” he asked. His lips were numb and the words bumped into one another terribly but he got them out. “It makes me nau—nash— _sick_. Sick absolutely everywhere. No, _you’re_ making me sick. Stop moving, amatus.”

With his free hand, he tried to hold Bull’s head still for him, missed, and ended up slapping him about the horns.

Bull snorted. “Yeah, you’re ready. Come on.”

The miniature hug vanished and then Dorian was being dragged to his feet. He shivered and huddled into Bull’s side as they stumbled out into the cold night. It was slow going back to their rooms what with Dorian forgetting that he had feet every other step and Bull eventually appeared to have enough. He let out a tired sigh and picked him up to carry him the rest of the way.

In their rooms, he moved to set him down on the bed when Dorian stopped him with a question that had been caught in his throat for days.

“You’re not going to leave me now. Are you, amatus?”

Bull straightened and was silent for only a moment. His arms tightened comfortingly and he pressed a kiss to Dorian’s hair. It made Dorian’s heart clench wonderfully, painfully, as if it was just now learning to beat.

“You’d have to chase me off with a stick.” A chuckle rumbled. “And not in a fun way, either.”

“Oh. Good.” Dorian’s eyes were getting awfully heavy. “What were we talking about again?”

Snorting, Bull let go so that Dorian bounced a little and tugged off his boots for him, before dropping down next to him.

“Go to sleep, kadan.”

Dorian mumbled sullenly, curled himself around Bull’s massive bulk, and passed out.


	21. Did I Get You Wet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Solona Amell have a bit of fun at Val Royeaux's Santinalia festival. Zevran/Amell. A fic for loreleisonafaire as part of my holiday giveaway on tumblr.

Val Royeaux’s Santinalia festival was an impressive display of wealth of decadence. There were performers of all sorts in every square; jugglers with gleamings swords and flaming batons, acrobats tumbling and leaping like squirrels from trees, and acting troupes performing the most popular plays. Foods from all across Thedas were being sold at stalls all through the city and filled the crisp evening air with their tantalizing scents. The mages of the White Spire had even been let out of their cage to perform dazzling tricks under the watchful eyes of the templars.

It was only to be expected, Solona supposed, given what she knew of Orlais. Which wasn’t much, admittedly, but any nation whose people considered masks to be appropriate day-to-day attire was bound to make their greatest city’s celebrations a dramatic affair. _That is a very tame description of this whole thing_ , she thought as she watched a man walk by on a pair of stilts, his colorful dragon mask spitting mage fire. _Outrageously grandiose is more accurate._

It would have been overwhelming for the girl she’d been when she’d left the Circle. The one who had only seen a city once when she was little and even then it was from a distance as the templars took her to Kinloch Hold. She’d been very afraid then of the wider world she’d been thrust into but a Blight later and that person might have been from another lifetime entirely.

A breeze kicked up and the fine spray from the glittering fountain she’d been resting on splashed her cheek in icy drops. She shivered and hunched into her velvet coat. Her outfit tonight was easily the richest she’d ever worn and it came with a pair of silk slippers that she’d been very pleased with the prettiness of. At first, at least, until her toes had started to freeze and feel as if an ogre had stomped on them.

_They lured me in with their loveliness then turned on me. How very Orlesian._

Sighing, she pried them off so that she could soak her feet in the fountain’s chilly waters. The crowd had begun to dance—some a little more uninhibited than others—as lively music filled the square. She looked around, trying to spot where Zevran had disappeared to through twirling cloaks and dresses and tipsy party-goers. 

She found him eventually; weaving and dodging through the crowd, graceful as a dancer himself. In his hands were two steaming mugs and he somehow managed to never spill a drop even when he almost took elbows and heels in some very sensitive places. A smile grew on her lips as she watched him. Not an uncommon thing for her at all, in truth. Sometimes, it was harder than it should have been to look away from the man she loved.

Zevran vanished behind a man in a nug mask and loud doublet and reappeared at her side. Flashing a grin, he sat down and offered her one of the mugs. It turned out to be mulled wine—sweet and spicy on her tongue—and it warmed her gloved hands nicely.

Most of his face was obscured by his gleaming, golden mask and dark hood but she could still see the glint in his eyes that always spelled the best sort of trouble.

“Be careful with that bewitching gaze of yours, my beautiful Warden,” he said. “You let it linger and a man may start to get the most lurid ideas.”

“I’ve no doubt that a man will get ideas, regardless.”

“Ah! That is true,” he lamented. “What else am I do to in the presence of such a vision other than to imagine bringing you the sweetest of joys?”

Smirking, she lifted her feet—now wonderfully numb with cold—out of the fountain and dropped them into his lap. A twist of them just so had him jerking back with a laugh.

“You wound me with such teasing, my sweet.” He sighed dramatically. “Alas, I am helpless before you.”

After kissing her toes, he whipped a handkerchief from his pocket, dried her feet, and then placed his mug of hot wine between them. Life began to flow through them again and she hummed in contentment. Zevran gave a throaty chuckle. His hand trailed up her leg under her skirts and back down, making her curl her toes into his shirt. Keeping his eyes on her, he took a sip of his drink and set it aside so that he could pull her closer.

Her breath caught and her heart skipped a beat as he brushed his lips against hers. She leaned forward, chasing him, heat rushing in her veins—

Icy water hit her face and neck full on and she reeled back with a strangled yelp. Zevran doubled over laughing and she glared as she realized his trick.

“You bastard,” she said but she was having to fight down a smile. “See if I ever kiss you again.”

He calmed enough to speak a few breathless words.

“Forgive me, my dear Warden.” Another laugh, hastily choked off. He was practically purring with self-satisfied mirth. “Ah, I could not resist.”

“No?” She sighed and looked at him sadly. No one was paying attention to them and there wasn’t a templar in sight. “I suppose I understand given what _I’m_ about to do.”

His eyes widened behind his mask and he tried to throw himself out of the way but it was too late. A push with her magic and he was tipping back into the fountain. He emerged sputtering and looking very much like a cat after a bath; half the size was thoroughly murderous. Laughing, she gave him a moment to scowl before helping him out. He cursed under his breath—in Antivan so she wouldn’t understand, she noticed—but fell silent as she drew him in for a proper kiss.

“Cruel as ever, amor de mi vida,” he murmured.

Smiling, she peered at him from beneath her lashes.

“Only as much as you deserve, mi cielo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using Spanish in place of Antivan here.
> 
> amor de mi vida- love of my life
> 
> mi cielo- my sky or my heaven


	22. I Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She could admire him in this way every morning for the rest of her life and never become tired of it. Sickening sweet Solavellan fluff. Melava Lavellan/Solas. A fic for bratt-ness as part of my holiday giveaway on tumblr. Melava belongs to them.

Melava opened her eyes to a cold, still morning. Sunlight—made weak and pale by winter's hand—was filtering through her windows and throwing faint rainbows about the room. It had snowed during the night and she could see a fluffy blanket of it had collected on her balconies. The fire had gone out at some point, too, but being wrapped up in Solas' arms, their legs tangled together, did much to keep her warm.

The slow rise and fall of his chest told her that he was still asleep and his heart was beating beneath her ear in a steady, soothing rhythm. His breath stirred her hair and she realized that in this moment, she was happier than she'd ever been. For a while, she simply basked in the feeling like a cat might a sunbeam before easing out of his grip so that she could look at him.

_He has a beautiful chin_ , she decided. It was narrow and cleft and part of a strong, sharp jaw. Her eyes trailed up to his lips—they were parted slightly and relaxed with peaceful sleep—then back down. In a strange way, his chin fit him perfectly as if some of his personality had found a home there. Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed it as a smile tugged at her mouth. Solas stirred, turning towards her like a flower did to the light, but didn't wake.

_His nose is beautiful, as well_ , she thought. From the side, it almost appeared straight until one thought to look closer and saw the gentle bumps the ran from bridge to tip. Freckles—nearly too fair to notice—were dusted across it and spread to his cheeks, softening his angles just enough. It was lovely in its symmetry and she never failed to wonder anew how it would feel to follow its curves with her fingertips. She gave in and did so, her caress feather light and reverent. His nose crinkled and twitched and she had to swallow her giggle.

Beneath his thick lashes, she knew were eyes that rivaled storm-touched sunsets in color and intensity. They were blue like a river under a gray sky tinged with the deep violet of dusk. She had realized that last part only recently and she held the knowledge tightly as if she'd been told a precious secret. A gift meant for her alone.

Her heart danced as she kissed both lids then and when she straightened, she saw a smile was growing on his lips. Grinning, she kissed those, too, before placing her hand along his cheek, her thumb stroking it of its own accord. She could admire him in this way every morning for the rest of her life and never become tired of it. His lashes were fluttering as he struggled towards wakefulness but the battle was short and he was already slipping back into the Fade within moments.

A laugh huffed out of her and with a final brush of her lips to his, she layed back down and joined him for a few extra moments of contented rest.


	23. For the Grace of Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Tala share a special dance during Skyhold’s Santinalia celebration. Solavellan. For capricorn-sun as part of my holiday giveaway on tumblr. Tala Lavellan belongs to them.

To Solas’ understanding, the festivities had been the Ambassador’s idea; an opportunity to improve moral and charm visiting dignitaries from their resentment of Skyhold’s rustic nature. By all accounts, it was a success. The fortress was awash with good cheer and if there had been some mutterings from the nobles that it was altogether rather dull for a Santinalia celebration, they were silenced by an ample feast and a steady flow of hot, sweet mead.

As for him, he’d been enjoying himself from the beginning though somewhat less so, at the moment. The Great Hall had grown overly warm and stifling and he was considering stepping out—it didn’t appear that Tala would be free for a while yet, in any case—when a small hand grazed his hip from behind. A familiar voice whispered into his ear.

“Meet me in the courtyard by the tavern.”

He turned but Tala was already slipping away into the shadows at the edges of the hall. Amused, he raised an eyebrow at her back but waited a few minutes before following to avoid drawing the notice she was clearly trying to avoid. The shock of the evening’s cold air made him shiver as he walked out the doors and down the steps leading from the main keep. 

When he neared the tavern, he saw that Tala was dancing.

She wasn’t the only one but in the gathered crowd of revelers, she blazed like a fire in the night. While the others danced in small groups or pairs, she was alone but not lonely; her movements graceful and bold to the point that everyone else could only be left behind. She had discarded her Santinalia mask and heavy cloak and she leaped as if she were a creature of the air, free of her chains at last.

A thought gripped him as he watched her. It would be absurdly indulgent, he told himself. He would draw far more attention to himself than he should for the sake of a foolish whim. Tala caught sight of him then and flashed a smile that silenced his reasonings for good. It was beautiful and radiant as the sun and as always, he felt helpless before it.

He committed the rhythm of her steps to memory for a few beats longer before moving through the crowd, dodging kicking heels and twirling couples as he went. When he reached her side, she paused long enough to take his hand in hers. He called on the Fade with a thought and when they parted, motes of golden-white light erupted from between their palms. Startled and delighted, she laughed as they formed into tiny, bright moths that fluttered around them before fading away.

“What’s this?” she asked.

He smiled.

“A small folly, vhenan. Quickly, before the music ends.”

She shook her head but recaptured his hand with a grin. Drums beat and fiddles sang, filling the air with a wild sort of joy. They spun around one another—their palms touching and fingers intertwined—then darted away and back together, always back together. When Tala’s feet stamped upon the stone, brilliant color burst beneath them. As she spun, stars trailed after her in glittering points against the dark.

The square cleared around them and hushed but Solas was only distantly aware of it. His mind was on his heart; the feel of her hand in his—like a breath to air-starved lungs and just as fleeting—before the brush of her skirts against him as she twisted away. If he had loved before, there was no word for what he felt now. She was compassion given to someone who had never thought to know it ever again; hope that he wasn’t fated to live forever in nightmares of his own making.

His heart clenched at a glance and a smile from her and he believed.

The next time she came near, the song was slowing and he wrapped an arm around her waist, dancing around her. He drew them both into gentle circles that pulled her closer to him with each step. The music came to a stop with her pressed against his chest, their breaths mingling in the chilly air, and he wasn’t certain if it was her heart or his own that he felt dashing like a hart through the forest. Applause rang as they stared at each other, flushed and panting.

Tala hesitated. After a moment, resolve tilted her chin and she stood on her toes to give him a chaste kiss that made his lips taste of honey.

“I love you,” she whispered.

She stepped back, quick and laughing, to grace their onlookers with a flourishing bow. The musicians were starting up again and their fellow dancers retook the stage, loud and merry.

“Would you like another dance, vhenan?”

“Of course.” She took his hand, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m thinking of a different kind, however. One that shouldn’t be done in a courtyard. Or with witnesses.”

He laughed. “Ah, I see. I, myself, would greatly appreciate such a dance not being done on frozen stone.”

“That’s ridiculously picky of you, Solas. I never would have said anything if I’d known you were so hard to please.”

“Is that so?” 

He raised an eyebrow and leaned close to whisper a few words into her ear that had her cheeks to blazing.

“Well, that’s…” Tala cleared her throat slightly. “We should…We should leave.”

Humming, he dipped in chin into a nod as a grin played at his mouth.

“I have no objections.”

“Excellent.”

She tugged him forward and they slipped through the crowd and into her quarters to spend the rest of the evening in happy solitude.


	24. Hoopball: A True Misfit Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chargers and Hawke's crew face off in a fierce game of hoopball. Blood is spilled, rivalries are made, and Varric is too old for this shit. My half of a fic/art trade with tsyele on tumblr.

It began as a few good-natured jokes and a bit of friendly competition.

It ended as what was possibly the worst bloodbath the walls of Skyhold had ever seen.

Of the nonlethal variety, anyway. _Though with the way Fenris is glaring,_ Varric thought, _that's going to start changing pretty soon, I imagine._

The game came to a reluctant standstill as he blew his whistle in a single, long burst. Tiny looked like he was considering palming one of the bright red, throwing balls while everyone was distracted but only grinned when Varric gave him a look.

"Andraste's ass, Dalish!" Varric shouted from the sidelines. "How many times do I have to tell you, you're not allowed to bite the other team?"

Dalish threw her arm wide to point an accusing finger at Fenris. "He kicked me!"

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest, an expression of exaggerated innocence settling on his face. Varric sighed. _You're a terrible actor, elf._

"Alright, that's it," he said, a headache pulsing behind his eyes. "Both of you are out of the game until the next round."

"Oh, come on!" That was Hawke, scowling and releasing Krem from the headlock she'd frozen in so that she could stomp over. "She _bit_ him. That's way worse than whatever Fenris may have done."

_Excellent hedging as always._

"Hawke, what was the one rule I had when you talked me into this?"

Her scowl intensified. "What you say goes. No arguments."

"Shit. You were listening, after all," he said, lifting an eyebrow. "Now, get back in the game before I decide to have you join the other children in the time-out corner."

After another moment of bristling, she spun on her heel and walked off to try to convince Krem to let her put him back in a headlock. Varric snorted and waited for Dalish and Fenris to leave the training yard they were using as a hoopball field then blew his whistle to restart the game.

The effect was immediate.

Hawke and Skinner both dove for the large, heavy foot-ball while Tiny sent a throwing ball— _the bastard palmed it when I wasn't looking_ —sailing into one of the three hoops they'd set up at the edge of the yard. He whooped as Grim—Varric's reluctant fellow referee—threw it back into play. Krem had gone for the second throwing ball but been interrupted by Daisy and they were currently in a wrestling match for it that was only slightly less ferocious as the one between Hawke and Skinner.

With three different balls and very few rules, hoopball was complete chaos at the best of times. The goal for each team was to either kick the foot-ball into the smaller, center hoop for the most points or throw the two smaller balls into the larger, outer hoop for less. Hitting wasn't allowed but every grapple and tackle known in Thedas certainly was which often led to a few players being led off of the field on stretchers. It wasn't _that_ dangerous, however, and most remembered that it was supposed to be a game played for simple enjoyment and not a war to be fought to the bitter end.

Apparently, though, this particular ragtag mercenary company and band of criminal misfits never got the memo. 

Varric had long since last track of who had done what but there wasn't one of them who wasn't guilty of punching or kicking or biting their way across the field. Out of all of them, Daisy was the most bloodthirsty—not so surprising; he'd always known that you have to watch out for the quiet ones—but Hawke almost had her beat. Tiny was the sneakiest and Krem liked to play by the rules until it looked like he was losing. Rivaini did the same except it was to catch the others off-guard while Skinner didn't care who knew that she was aiming for a crotch shot.

All in all, Varric took it as a very good reminder to never be in a dark alley alone with any of them.

Skinner had managed to kick Hawke away from the foot-ball and pass it over to Tiny. At the other end of the field, Krem had gotten the ball from Daisy and scooped up the second throwing ball only to be tackled by a screeching Hawke. Tiny aimed a kick that was sent wildly off-course when Daisy launched herself onto his back. As she yanked on his horns and he hollered, Rivaini got Skinner into an awkward grapple that ended up landing on-top of a struggling Hawke and Krem.

"Ow!" Krem shouted. "Skinner, stop! That's me!"

"Say 'uncle!'" Daisy screamed. "Say, 'uncle!'"

Tiny swatted at her but was handily dodged. "Never, you little—Ow!"

Varric sighed wearily as he looked over the mayhem before bringing the whistle to bear once again to ringing out several shrill blasts. No one seemed to notice. After a bit, he threw his hands up into the air and walked away, leaving both groups to sort the mess out for themselves.

The final tally was two fractured arms, four broken noses, a fistful of missing hair, one busted rib, uncountable bruises and nasty scrapes, and one training yard that looked like it had been the site of at least three blood sacrifices. Both sides swore a feud to last generations, too, and the game that started it all became something of a legend. It was told in the barracks of Skyhold for years to come, fueled by a number of Varric's tasteful embellishments, of course.


	25. Silk Between His Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much like the woman whose head it crowned, her hair was restless and never content to remain still for long. An endearing trait but, at times, equally frustrating. For inquisitor-marlynastre as part of my holiday giveaway on tumblr. Hala Lavellan belongs to them.

Hala's hair was white, a shock of it against tanned, freckled skin. It was the color of snow; bright and solid until one separated the strands and found that they were clear as the purest glass. When the sun touched it, silvers and golds danced along the strands and if she turned her head just so, it made Solas think of crystal spires stretching out into the sky.

He began to wonder what it would feel like against his fingers or beneath his lips. Would it be soft as it seemed; velvety and thick as the fur on the collars of wealthy nobles or fine like downy feathers? Or, perhaps, its look was only an illusion and it would be as harsh and brittle as the twisting, crystal towers in his memories.

It wasn't, in the end. Nor was it feathers or fur. Her hair was silk, smooth and falling like water. There wasn't enough of it, he thought; there was always a small jolt of loss when he reached its end and it too easily slipped away from his touch. Much like the woman whose head it crowned, it was restless and never content to remain still for long. An endearing trait but, at times, equally frustrating.

Like, now, for instance.

They were on the couch in her quarters with the curtains pulled tight and a fire blazing in the hearth. It crackled and hissed in the silence, accompanied by the occasional turning of a page. Hala had her head resting in his lap though not particularly contently. As she'd been doing with increasing frequency for the last several minutes, she shifted and inadvertently managed to elbow him in the kidney. Solas sucked in a breath at the flash of pain then expelled it as a long-suffering sigh. He closed his book over a finger and looked down, his hand stilling its idle stroking of her hair.

"I'm sorry," she said thickly, her expression a mix of miserable and sheepish. "I know I keep doing that."

"You are supposed to be sleeping, vhenan."

Or resting, at least, but he hadn't much faith that she was going to manage either. It had taken a good deal of convincing on his part and a promise of company—with a liberal supply of spiced cider and peppermint candies, of course—to have her put aside even her least pressing duties. Exhaustion and her lingering illness had won out, however, and she'd finally agreed to take a day for recovery. A forgivable stubbornness given the responsibilities that she bore. Still, he did wish that she would stop hitting him.

"I know," she was saying with a frustrated huff made jagged by the heaviness in her lungs. "I just—There are things that I should be _doing_."

"There's nothing so important that it cannot wait an evening," he told her as he began running his fingers through her hair once more. "Take the time now so that you are not forced to when there are greater concerns."

She sighed. "I know that, too."

"Close your eyes, vhenan."

After a moment, she did only to crack one open not two seconds later.

"Will you read to me?" she asked.

Smiling, Solas brushed a lock of her silken, white hair from her forehead, noting the slight heat of fever in her skin.

"As you like. I suspect that it will bore you, however."

"Maybe, I'll actually sleep then." She grinned tiredly. "But I don't think that I could ever be bored listening to you."

A pleased flush burned in his cheeks and the tips of his ears and he hummed as Hala's grin widened. Without comment, he began to read; his voice was low and soothing. She finally seemed to relax and eventually she slipped into a comfortable, healing sleep.


	26. Entwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the yearly Hamin’vunin celebration, Tamlen and Aislin break with tradition. Tamlen x Mahariel. For playfulclaws as part of my holiday giveaway on tumblr. Aislin belongs to them.

 

The day had been one of happiness.

Their clans had come together to celebrate Hamin'vunin and Tamlen had stuck into her aravel early in the morning to wake her. He'd peppered her face with kisses and tickled her sides until she was nearly crying from holding back desperate laughter. Aislin had gotten her own back eventually in the brief snow fight that had erupted while they were helping to make the wreaths of winter flowers to be placed around the halla's necks. They'd been scolded, of course. Still, Tamlen's look of wide-eyed surprise as a glob of cold, slushy snow had been smashed into his face had been worth it.

After the wreaths had been finished and garlands of fragrant pine had been wound through the halla's antlers, they had joined the hunt for the evening feast. The day was one of true winter—gray and cold with snow covering the forest floor up to her shins—but Andruil was with them and they returned in high spirits. Their bags were heavy with game and they'd even snared a prize stag that was too large for a single elf to carry. It had been her arrow to take the beast down and the smile Tamlen had given her had settled into her chest with a warmth to last her days.

The sun dipped low into the sky and the hahrens told of The Long Walk and the founding of Halamshiral as the clans gathered around the fireside. Aislin listened, her hand intertwined with Tamlen's. Once prayers to Ghilan'nain were said to guide them in the coming year, a beating drum sounded and the high singing of a flute. Food and drink were passed around and the true celebration began.

Before Aislin could so much as take a sip of ale or a bite of roast venison, Tamlen pulled her to her feet.

"Come on," he said, grinning. "I want to show you something."

She looked at him warily. "Show me what?"

"You'll see."

Her food was hot and her empty stomach protested at the idea of leaving it but she only gave an irritated sigh and let him lead her away. Most ignored them but they earned a few amused titters as they disappeared behind an aravel and just into the trees. She didn't doubt that they were going to be one subject of the night's gossip; scandal was half the reason their clans got together in the first place.

He stopped her once they were alone. His expression was hard to see but she thought he looked almost nervous which made her a little nervous in turn. 

"What is it, then?" she asked.

His answer was to thrust something into her hands. "Here."

It felt like a bundle of linen and that's all she thought it was at first. But when she squinted at it, she realized that it had been roughly embroidered with a pattern of leaves and simple shapes. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Tamlen—"

"I know what you're going to say," he interrupted with a defiant scowl. "I don't care about the stupid tradition. Why should I have to wait to show you that I love you?"

"You haven't even talked to Mamae, yet," she said quietly.

"But I will." When she still hesitated, he rolled his eyes. "Are you at least going to stop being a golden halla long enough to see what it is?"

She planted a sharp kick to his shin. As he cursed and hopped, she unfolded the fabric. Inside was a leather bracelet embossed with two halla—their necks intertwined—and closed with a lover's knot. Aislin rubbed her thumb over the smooth leather as Tamlen fell quiet.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

She smiled. "More than I like you, I think. All that time putting up with you has finally paid off."

When he scowled and crossed his arms, she laughed.

"Very funny. I'm taking it back now."

"You'll have to fight me for it," she promised before pulling him down for a kiss.


	27. To Soothe and Keep You Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall x Amell. "She hadn’t known what sort of creature it was meant to be at first but the name had come to her along with a few hazy memories of her life before the Circle. A rabbit. It’s a rabbit." With a fever sweeping through the Circle Tower, Marion visits the one she loves. For kitteria as part of my holiday giveaway on tumblr featuring their Warden.

Like with most news she heard in the Tower, it was the rumor mill that told Marion that Niall was ill. He wasn't the only one. When one of them became sick, most of the rest did as well, no matter how hard they tried to contain it. The cost of so many living in such close proximity apparently. It usually meant time-off from classes and a little more peace in the apprentice quarters as people were placed in the infirmary. It made it a bit difficult to sneak away without the crowd to hide her but she managed it a few days into the epidemic.

The floor where the senior mages were housed was quiet and she reached Niall's room with little more than a few raised eyebrows sent her direction. After a quick knock on the door, she stepped inside and nudged it closed behind her. Niall was in bed but awake, a book open in his lap. His cheeks were flushed with fever—the only bit of color in his pale skin—and his hair was damp with sweat. Dark bags of exhaustion hung under his eyes and he looked generally miserable but Marion smiled to see him anyway. He blinked at her before giving a weak smile of his own and a quirked eyebrow at the items in her hands.

"Hello," he said, his voice scratchy and barely over a whisper. "Come to make sure you fall sick, too?"

"You found me out. Bringing gifts was just an excuse." She walked over to sit on the edge of his bed and handed him the mug of elfroot tea she'd smuggled out of the infirmary. "I'm afraid the tea's cold, now, but it's something to drink, at least."

He took a sip and gave her a look of exasperated amusement. "Who did you steal it from for there to be honey in it?"

"No one who will miss it," she said and presented her second gift.

It was an old stuffed animal made for children, its suede fur worn but still soft. Wooden buttons took the place of eyes and long threads were its whiskers. It might have had a fluffy tail once, too, but the years had stolen it at some point. She hadn't known what sort of creature it was meant to be at first but the name had come to her along with a few hazy memories of her life before the Circle. _A rabbit. It's a rabbit._

"Where in Thedas did you find this?" Niall asked as he took the toy from her.

"It was under a crate in one of the storage rooms. The templars must have taken it from someone when they came to the tower and forgotten about it."

"And you thought some poor child's stolen toy would make me feel better?"

"Isn't it?"

He wheezed something that she realized was meant to be a laugh. "Yes, a little. Thank you, Marion."

"You're welcome." She leaned close to place a light kiss on his overheated cheek. "I can stay awhile if you like."

"The longer you stay the more likely you are to get caught, you know."

"I won't get caught," she promised. "Scoot over, please."

With a somewhat resigned sigh, he did and she moved to stretch out her legs beside him. It was a tight fit on the narrow bed with their hips and shoulders pressed together and the stuffed rabbit squished between them but Marion didn't mind in the slightest. She plucked the book he'd been reading from his lap and looked at the cover.

"Vheren, hmm. Well, if you're trying to fall asleep, you couldn't have chosen better."

"He's not as bad as Mirdromel, at least."

"Hush, you're delusional with fever." She grinned and then said more gently. "Drink your tea."

Rolling his eyes, Niall obliged as she set the book to rest on both of their legs and then took his hand into her own. She felt him staring but when she looked, he only smiled as he turned back to the book and they read together in contented silence.


	28. The Things That Lie Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had not known all that she’d offered. In his weaker moments, Solas wishes that she had so that he might have said ‘yes’. Solavellan. Post game. For evilbunnyking as part of my holiday giveaway on tumblr; featuring their Abora Lavellan.

She offered him her hand.

Solas looked at her as he had and always did—traced his eyes over her smile and the arch of her eyebrow at his stare. How often had he seen it, that silent teasing that spoke of amusement and fondness and wondering held behind her lips? A number beyond counting. It was burned into his memory by merciless fire that liberated in the same breath that it chained.

Heart in his throat, he dropped his gaze to the hand still outstretched and patient. It was as he had never seen it in the waking world. Entirely whole and unburdened by the magic that would eventually take it from her. The tawny skin was calloused and painted with silvery scars, some that he knew the origins of and some that he did not. He dwelled on them, his mind imagining the stories attached to them that she will never tell him.

_See something fascinating?_

Her voice was light but just on the edge of biting and it carried him back to the two of them alone on a hill beneath a flickering sun. A dream of a memory. A smile curled his lips as it always did, an echo of a hundred remembrances.

"Infinitely," he said as he at last took her hand.

Abora laughed and with a gentle tug, drew him close to capture his lips with her own. The memory of it was pale when compared to the reality but he was ever helpless, undone by the lost— _hurting, ruined_ — pieces of himself. Her touch left blooms of fire in its wake and he had leaned into it unknowingly. _Dangerous. Foolish_ , he told himself as he always did. _Let her go and let it be for the last time._

But he never could completely and it never was.

A shudder and he closed his eyes as if to ward away the sun and when he opened them again, the dream had jumped forward to a safer moment though only just. His back was pressed against the tree that shaded their hill with Abora's thighs still enveloping his hips in warmth. The wind carried the scent of her and he turned the memory away. She was watching him—her eyes bright beneath half-closed lids—as she dragged sharp nails gently over the flesh behind his ears. Solas waited for the question that she had left unasked though he had expected—had wanted—

_Who are you?_

The long years of his life had blurred the answer, buried it beneath its weight until anything other than shadows and pain was all but forgotten. Still, he began to speak and she listened—that smile like a tease on her lips—and he drank it in as a man dying. Things interred for an age spilled forth. Sudden. Desperate. He hardly knew all that he would have said but then—but then—

His words caught, his throat closing over them as it had when the memory was not a memory and she hadn't asked but he had begun to speak. She placed one hand upon his cheek; the other resting over his racing heart, steady, calming, and her eyes searched his.

_Solas?_

A ragged sob ripped out of his chest. He hunched his shoulders—curling towards her despite himself, seeking—but she was motionless. It had never gone this way; he had only smiled and told her something too meaningless to be remembered and kissed her gently as if to say that all was well. If he hadn't quite stilled the tremble in his hands, his lips, she had chosen to remain silent. It had been a relief to avoid the need to lie even if...even if he was selfish enough to desire something else.

Shuddering, he breathed her in and allowed himself one more moment before he straightened. The dream resumed with a rush of cool wind that whispered through the leaves and left icy trails along his skin. Abora brushed her thumb against his cheek, her gaze unwavering and filled with quiet intensity. Even in this dream, he was forced to look away.

"I must go, vhenan," he said.

She laughed slightly, a scoff. This figment of her that had managed to capture some of her brightness for itself.

_Since when must you do anything?_


End file.
